


Exposed

by Funkspiel



Series: A Collection of Odd Events (Tumblr Requests) [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Bottom Original Percival Graves, Dom!Newt, Dom/sub, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, Fuck Or Die, Gramander, Magic Fingers, Magical Finger Fucking, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-con exhibitionism, Non-con to Dub-con, Pheromones, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sub!Graves, Wandless Magic, bottom!graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-01 23:10:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10202939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkspiel/pseuds/Funkspiel
Summary: After getting hit by a vial of a mysterious substance, Newt finds himself in a delicate situation. Act upon and satisfy his deepest desire - or die. Unfortunately for one oblivious Director of Magical Security, Newt's deepest desire is to dominate Percival Graves.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr Request Fill

If it wasn’t for the curse that had struck Newt during a poaching and trafficking raid, none of them – not even Tina – would have ever known how truly powerful he was. It had taken the senior staff present at the meeting off guard for sure. Newt was a talented wizard, yes, but he was also a student who had been expelled and never finished his schooling. None of them expected him to be capable of incapacitating an entire room of their best, let alone hold them suspended for any length of time.

So it took them all by surprise to have one Newt Scamander slam open the doors to their conference room quite suddenly on a rather uneventful Wednesday, Tina hot on his heels and looking more flustered than Graves had ever seen her. The person currently speaking stuttered to a halt at the loud sound of ebony doors cracking against the walls that held them, leaving spider web cracks in the drywall – eyes wide and mouth agape on a long lost train of thought.

The sound alone drew the attention of the room, hands darting to hover over concealed wands. Many of them relaxed minutely at the familiar face, only to stiffen as they really took in the sight of him. Newt took one quick glance around the room before his eyes locked on Graves at the other end of the long table. And just like that, he was moving again – quick and purposeful. Surely this wasn’t the brilliant, if awkward, man that they had all come to know and unwillingly love? Not this man who was striding across the room with a gait so long Tina could barely keep up with him. Not this man who was actually standing at his full height instead of hunched over. Not this man that was decidedly _not_ averting his eyes for once. Every line of his body bespoke a language so instinctive and old, Graves found his own responding without his say-so. It bespoke _predator_ and _dangerous_ and _power._

_And something else._

Graves swallowed, eyes locked on hazel and pinned beneath that never straying gaze as he approached.

“Mr. Scamander, what is the meaning of--?”

Newt was reaching into his coat pocket before any of them could realize that their bumbling magizoologist was preparing to strike. It was a realization that came too late to even the best of them, and the tall redhead had already flicked his wand at the room at large before stowing the length of wood away again. Graves blinked as all around him, the best of MACUSA found themselves bound by swirling tendrils of wood that sprouted from each of their large ornate chairs. Shouts of outrage and surprise filled the room and nearly covered the sound of Graves’ own chair legs squealing against the marble floor as he leapt up to his feet, hand reaching for his wand.

“Scamander!”

“Newt, please,” Tina said, her voice consumed by the chaos as she paced along the edges of the room, obviously at a loss at what to do. At Picquery’s searing gaze, she held up her hands and quickly stammered, “I can explain!”

But Newt paid her no mind. His eyes, all of his focus, _everything_ – it was all trained on Graves. It made an unfamiliar shiver quake its way down the director’s spine. He readied his wand, a spell already at the tip of his tongue even as he said, “Stand down, Scamander!”

“ _Expelliarmus,”_ Newt said in a tenor so deep, Graves could practically feel the rumble of it in his chest. And shocked as he was by the behavior in the first place, he could only blink as his wand whizzed nimbly through his fingers to Newt’s awaiting hand.

But Graves was already following through with a wandless spell, something quick and powerful, but not so much that it would hurt their resident creature consultant – not when he didn’t know what the fuck was going on. Was Newt possessed? Cursed? A turncoat?

He needed the man alive and unharmed to know.

The kinetic blast should have stunned the man just enough to give Graves the upper hand and bind him. And it would have if Newt hadn’t literally just brushed the spell away with a swipe of one hand more befitting of swatting a bothersome fly. It left the room stunned, and Graves couldn’t help but think _of that night, when Grindelwald had so easily washed away his every attack as if it were nothing_. _Rain in the alleyway, the fierce grit of pavement beneath his knees, and –_

Graves blinked. He had only lost a moment this time, but a moment was all Newt had needed.

Newt swiped his hand at Graves again, and a mere second later Graves felt an unseen force slam into him – not painfully, but demandingly all the same – sending him back into his chair. He had barely a moment to shake off his disorientation before he suddenly had a lapful of lithe magizoologist to deal with. And he smelled… _strange._ Spicy and wrong and delightful. It felt suddenly hot in the room. Stifling.

“Scamander,” he warned, _snarled_ , but then there were hands at his lapels, pulling, _pulling_ , easing down the edges of his coat until they held him pinned at his elbows. “Newt!”

Lips at his jaw, then the firm line of his throat – gentle at first, then reproachful when he began to try and squirm free. When he brought his hands up to push the man off, Newt simply nipped him hard and gathered his wrists into his hands before pressing Graves' palms flat to the arm rests and murmuring, “ _Stay_ ,” against his skin. And when Newt let go, Graves found he couldn’t remove them from their spot.

His breath quickened.

“Newt!” Tina squeaked from somewhere in the room, but Graves could not see her.

“Goldstein,” he croaked, and tried valiantly to ignore the way his voice broke – from fear. From _heat._ “Apprehend him!”

“I can’t!”

Graves blinked and tried to squirm so that the woman might fall into his line of sight, but she didn’t.

“What do you mean, _you can’t?”_ He snarled. “That wasn’t a request, that was an order!”

“You don’t understand, sir,” she said, and he could hear the pain in her voice. The guilt. The worry. “He’ll die.”

“Wha—aah!”

Newt’s fingers had migrated, long and nimble at his fly as they teased at his zipper but did not pull. With teeth, Newt began to mouth open first his vest, then his shirt one button at a time – rewarding each inch gained with a soft, chaste kiss that belied the not so gentle grinding of his hips against Graves. And when the fabric parted, he merely leaned down to brush dry lips against small nipples and lick and tease and nibble.

“S-Scamander, stop,” he said, trying to hold onto his train of thought as he took in what Tina had said. “Tina, explain.”

“No more work,” Newt said, rough and demanding as he rose to speak against the dip at the hollow of his throat. “Focus, Percival. _Silencio_.”

For a fierce moment, Graves feared he had been silenced. His heart jack hammered in his throat. But when Newt suddenly pawed at his member and a moan slipped unbidden from his lips – earning a knowing grin from Newt against his skin – Graves understood what happened.

He had silenced everyone else.

Graves threw his head back in an attempt to gain space and take a second to catch up and _think_ , but Newt took it as an invitation of a completely different nature. Any thought the director had managed to accrue immediately fled as lips sealed unto his pulse point and sucked.

And Graves shocked himself as he realized the high keen that suddenly split the silence had come from him - and everyone could hear it.

“Beautiful,” Newt said after pulling free from his throat with a wet pop. He licked the sore spot once in a long, hot stripe before leaning back to stare Graves in the eye. It was unusual to receive direct eye contact with the magizoologist. Rarer still to hold it longer than a few seconds. But Graves found himself eye to eye with the man for what felt like centuries. And what with the heat and the raw desire and the feeling of being devoured beneath their weight that emitted from them, Graves found that for once it was he who had to look away. He swallowed – eyes wide and completely at a loss for _what the fuck was happening_ and _why he was acting this way, he should be fucking fighting, why—_

Newt nipped his bottom lip.

“Eyes on me, Percival,” he said, smiling at the director’s lost expression.

“Sc-Scamander—“

And then Newt was pulling away, falling to his knees, and _Mercy Lewis, was he going to do what Graves thought he was going to do?_

Lips at the seam of his expensive pants, nosing past the little flap of fabric only for his teeth to grasp at the zipper and begin to pull slowly down – down and down and down until the fabric beneath appeared. Graves inhaled sharply, pupils blown as he could do nothing more than watch the normally innocent face between his thighs tilt up to catch his eye and _grin_ , and suddenly, his underwear – _and only his underwear_ – vanished from beneath his pants.

Without Newt blocking his view anymore, he had clear view of the room at large. A dozen wide eyed occupants – afraid and angry and…were they aroused? A flare of outrage blossomed in Graves’ stomach even as he felt his face flush, embarrassed by his lack of control. He was the fucking Head of Magical Security and yet here he was. He had failed to protect an entire room of personnel and now he was going to be taken apart in front of them.

But what was it that Tina had said? He’d die.

Graves frowned, brows furrowed, and tried to focus.

“What did she mean, Scamander?”

Instead of answering, Newt simply pushed back either side of Graves' unbuttoned shirt and nipped the sharp jut of his hip, making Graves buck despite himself.

“No questions, no orders,” Newt said, pupils blown so dark only a sliver of hazel remained as Newt held eye contact with him and slowly grew nearer to his crotch. “Not from you. It’s my turn.”

“Scamander, d-don’t,” he warned, but even to him he sounded tentative, weak. No one had ever simply ignored him before. No one had ever strapped him to a chair and taken away his every farce and simply _exposed him_. In a room full of peers, no less. Graves was always the one in control. This… this was strange, foreign.

Newt kissed the head of dick and smiled. Graves shivered and bit his lip, eyes hot and trained angrily on Newt. Angry, but at himself. Newt chuckled.

“You don’t have to be so strong all the time, Percival,” he said, then paused to lave a long hot line from root to tip before finally saying, “I can be strong for you.”

Before Graves could mutter so much as another word, that hot mouth descended on him – taking him in one slow drag all the way to the soft skin of his pelvis – and swallowed. The sound of Graves knocking his head against the hard back of the ornate chair cut through the silence of the room. His eyes rolled back and despite himself, he rolled his hips down into the chair, overwhelmed.

“N- _Newt_ ,” he tried, his voice a warbled mess, his hair in his eyes.

And still deep in his throat, Newt hummed in response.

Graves cried out, his flush crawling over his ears and down his neck to his firm chest out of sheer embarrassment from the sound. Embarrassment, but also – _fuck_ , it was nice to be allowed to just sit back and _– no! He was not enjoying this!_

Newt lifted, finally, his tongue tracing the long, thumping vein that spanned the curve of Graves’ cock before pulling off with a pop and blowing on its tip with a cruel, knowing little smile. Beneath his hands where he held Graves’ waist tight to his chair, Graves' hips shimmied with quick little spasms, unable to stay still.

“That’s it, Percival,” Newt crooned kindly, tongue hot against the long path leading up to his abdomen before nipping the skin there just below his bellybutton. “Such a good boy you are. Let me take care of you. That’s it. Just like that.”

It took Graves a minute to realize what Newt was talking about. That he had slumped down into the chair at Newt's behest. That his hands were not pressing to be free anymore but rather grasping at the armrests fiercely, just trying to anchor him through the thick waves of pleasure. That his eyes had become half lidded. That he had forgotten they were not alone.

He blinked, eyes darting to look up at the room – guilt and shame and fear slowly building again – only for Newt to stand and block out the view once again, one hand at his face, brushing along his cheek. He consumed his vision, narrowing Graves’ world to just his eyes and the curve of his lips and the soft touch of his hand. Graves sighed.

“There we go,” Newt praised, then leaned back and lifted so that he was sitting at the head of the long conference room table facing Graves – back to the others. And then he was leaning forward, grasping Graves’ wrists and lifting him from the chair, easing Graves along until suddenly it was not he who had a lapful of Scamander, but rather Scamander who had a lapful of _him_.

“N-no,” Graves murmured, his right mind fighting against the haze that had risen to consume him. But then the scent from before was back. Hot and thick and cloying and Graves felt his lids droop again.

“Ssh,” Newt said, hands on his hips and sliding up under his shirt to spread against the span of his lithe lower back. He brushed his lips to one set of ribs, then the other. “Please. Just let me.”

Newt returned to lavishing Graves chest with nips and licks and kisses, and the man was so captivated by the sensation he couldn’t help but keen and _clench_ and grasp onto Newt’s shoulders for dear life when he felt two fingers that couldn’t _possibly_ be Newt’s suddenly breach him even though he was still wearing his pants.

The fingers, whatever they were, were slick and hot and pressing. They scissored and stretched and breached him in a place where he had never had a man before. It had always been he who led. He who took care to prep another. It had always just been the way of things. But now, fingers buried in his ass, he couldn’t help but think he had been missing out all these years as another finger slid in – a plume of lube oozing free to coat the seam of his pants and drip lewdly into Newt’s lap.

And when the fourth magic finger slipped into his ass and Graves simply _bore down onto them_ and whimpered, Newt smiled. He reached up with both hands to cup Graves’ jaw and brush back his hair even as the fingers continued their relentless searching beneath the fabric of his pants and said, “Good, very good, Percival.”

The fingers left him as suddenly as they came, but Graves didn’t have much more time to so much as whine before his pants simply vanished and it was not fingers begging entrance at his hole but the wide, hot head of Newt’s cock.

When that length finally penetrated him down to the hilt, he merely burrowed his face into Newt’s neck and moaned raggedly, mouth open against his skin. Time passed slowly that way – just them, just the heavy shaft in his ass. Up and down. Striking him, gently at first, and then harder. Burning stars into his vision, pulling songs from his throat. His thighs trembled where they held him up, his hips slowly building up into a rhythm until Graves found himself rising and falling without the guidance of Newt’s hands on his waist at all. He rode the length within him, teeth buried into Newt’s shoulder to anchor him as his world threatened to split apart.

“There we go,” Newt said, hands gentle and soothing beneath his shirt and vest and the wide splay of his extravagant coat. “Just like that. You’re so good for me. I knew you would be.”

Graves whined, high in his throat. His eyes burned.

“Let me take some of the weight from your shoulders, Percival,” Newt said, his voice stuttering between the thrusts of his hips. “Let someone help you for once. Let me help you.”

“I c-can-an’t,” he cried weakly, head spinning.

A hand at the back of his neck, wide and gentle and calming - claiming.

“You can. Come for me, Percival. I’ve got you.”

And he did, ass clenching and milking around the heft of Newt’s cock as he orgasmed; mouth open in a silent, breathless "O" against Newt's neck.

Graves was told by MACUSA’s medical staff later when he woke that he had passed out. But he could remember Newt bringing him down from his high with soft hands and trembling fingers and suddenly warm, familiar eyes that shook and darted this way and that and refused to look at him. He remembered the soft glow of a spell at Newt’s fingers, brushing back his hair and fading into his temple – the man’s apologies chasing him into the dark.

“It was a poison of some sort, pulled from one of the creatures they were trafficking. Newt could explain it better than me,” Tina said, seated at Graves’ bedside in the infirmary. Fingers twisting up her handkerchief as she worked her way through the story. “I don’t remember which creature he said it came from… After they threw the vial at him in an attempt to get away, well – we honestly forgot all about it at first, Newt was just so concerned about helping the creatures… by the time we realized something was wrong, he wasn’t exactly coherent enough to explain anymore.”

“You said he’d die,” Graves pressed.

“Yes, well, we found a cage of people – _dead people_ – and case of the stuff just outside it. Several of the bottles were empty… There were notes detailing what happened. That the venom increased the victims focus on sexual fantasies and desires and dangerously lowered inhibitions. That if they couldn’t fulfill those specific desires or obtain sexual release then their hearts exploded and I… I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know he’d want – that’d he’d…”

“Goldstein –“

“And I’ve never seen him perform magic like that, I just –“

“Goldstein!”

“Sir?”

He reached out a hand to gently graze her forearm and stared her down. He didn’t smile, not quite. He didn’t have it in him. But he must have managed to do something right, because she steadied beneath his gaze.

“It’s not your fault.”

“But sir—“

“It’s not your fault. It won’t be your fault in an hour or in a day or in a week. This isn’t your weight to bare.”

_“Let me take some of the weight from your shoulders, Percival.” Lips at his throat. Hands on his back. Spreading. Filling him._

_He hadn't even known he'd felt so empty._

Graves swallowed and pulled away.

“He… he’d like to see you,” she said so softly he almost didn’t catch it. “If you’re willing.”

A part of him said no. That he wasn’t ready to see the man that had pulled him apart singlehandedly in front of the top brass of MACUSA. But the same part of him that couldn’t be mad at Tina also knew that Newt was no less innocent. He couldn’t help what poison made him do.

But it wasn’t that it happened that made his stomach clench at the thought of seeing Newt.

It was the knowledge that somewhere, Newt had _wanted_ to do that. That debasing Graves into a keening, mewling mess atop his lap was something he _craved_ and that he had almost died for it. It was the fact that somewhere, Newt saw him that way – soft and submissive and eager despite all of his hard work to portray himself the contrary.

And it was the fact that somewhere, Graves knew he wanted that, too.

Graves cleared his throat.

“Send him in.”

**Author's Note:**

> And now, I shall return to the trash can from whence I came. Enjoy.  
> Find me on Tumblr - Funkzpiel


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